Eye Snatcher by Ryan Casey Read Free Book Online Page A

said something about no one being home. Called them about what’s happened though. About—”
    “Then that’s where we go,” Brian said. He looked at Brad. Smiled.
    Brad opened his mouth in that apologetic way again then just nodded back at Brian.
    They approached the farm. Walked along the tire tracks which tractors had formed, heard the cows bustling around in the grey outhouses. There was a creepiness to the way the cows watched them as they passed. A dullness, a stupidity, to their eyes.
    The things that these creatures could’ve seen and had no idea, no understanding, of.
    How much easier life would be if animals could tell their side of the story.
    Brian and Brad walked up to the driveway of the farmhouse. A red-bricked bungalow, quite modern and spanning a lot of ground.
    “Hope you’ve brought your A game,” Brian said, as he stepped onto the recently tarmacked driveway.
    “I always bring my A game,” Brad said.
    The farmer watched the two officers with mud on their trousers coming down the driveway.
    “Hide,” he said.

EIGHT
    When Brian pulled the steel bell beside the farmhouse door, it didn’t take long for somebody to answer.
    It was a balding guy with a lot of stubble. Tiny bit of dark hair clinging to his head. Had a speck of mud on his left cheek, his face red and puffy—healthy, as some would say. A fresh air face. He was wearing a burgundy jumper and black trousers that didn’t look like, or smell like, they’d been washed in weeks.
    He looked at Brian and Brad with a big jovial smile.
    “Mr…” Brian said.
    “Jack. Jack Selter,” he said. Held out a dirty hand in Brian’s direction, which he shook with much reluctance. “You must be’t police. ‘Ere about that lad?”
    “Indeed we are,” Brad said. “I’m Detective Sergeant Richards, this is Detective Inspector McDone. We’d like to ask you a few things about Sam Betts and the night of his disappearance. Can we come inside?”
    Jack stared at the pair of them with narrowed eyes. In the surrounding countryside, birds sang in good voice as a rare bit of sun peeked out. Cows mooed. “Can prob’ly do a few minutes. Gonna ‘aft go see to’t cows in a bit though—”
    “That’s fine,” Brian said, stepping away from Jack’s doorway. “We can come with you, if you’d rather. If that’d be easier on you.”
    More narrow-eyed staring from Jack. Typical shifty farmer. It was always hard to pin down a farmer. Brian had dealt with a handful of them in his time on the job, and they were all as shifty as each other, no matter whether they were guilty or innocent. It was like they felt they didn’t have to follow the normal rules or codes of the rest of society. Probably a result of working for themselves, running their own little lifestyles—they were subservient to nobody.
    Explained pretty well why they didn’t take too nicely to police requests.
    “Suit yerselves,” Jack said, as he slipped his black wellies on, which were caked with sheep shit. “Might wanna wear some better shoes though.”
    After changing into some of Jack’s spare wellies, which were way too bloody tight for Brian’s feet, Brad and Brian followed Jack over to the outhouses where the cows were kept. In there—this dark, damp place—the smell of shit intensified. God knows how anyone could find a lifestyle like this rewarding.
    Granted, Brad didn’t seem too fussed, but when did he ever?
    “Thing about cows is, they’re a lot cleverer than people give ‘um credit for,” Jack said, as he opened up one of the gates and waved them out of their little pen.
    Brian clutched his nostrils. “Oh yeah? Where’d you read that?”
    “Protective. Of their young. Step between a cow ‘n its babbies and it’ll trample you to mush.”
    “I’m not sure that qualifies as ‘clever,’” Brad added, scraping his shit-covered wellies on the damp ground as a group of cows scurried past, shit still tumbling from their asses.
    “They look after their young a